


the shape of your hands

by oceandawn



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:28:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24473560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceandawn/pseuds/oceandawn
Summary: callum is a paramedic, and he's coming home late from a week full of late shifts. they've had an argument, and ben knows he's in the wrong.he just doesn't know how to say it.
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 16
Kudos: 123





	the shape of your hands

**Author's Note:**

> anon prompt from tumblr: “You’re hurt? Jesus- sit down...” “Kiss it better please?”
> 
> I changed the wording a bit to fit since i went away with this one but hope you like it!
> 
> tw / mentioned violence, mentioned alcohol, tiny mention of blood

It's late, too late to be regretting decisions now.

Ben provoked people he shouldn't have, got drunk because there was no way out of his nauseating thoughts. He shouldn't have said those things to Callum, arguing about things he can't control — but that's him.

That's Ben.

But he knows he can fix this, apologise to Callum and somehow hope there's goodness left in him, to hope that Ben hasn't shredded every layer and left Callum hollow.

He's capable of that, and he knows he is. Ben was and still is raised by a father that never looks his way, only spits his name like some sort of ill sin, and Ben is still the child tugging at the back of his shirt waiting for that drop of acknowledgement.

Here he is now, though. Face with a small amount of bruising on one side, cut lip across bottom and top, nose a little sore from where he caught part of a fist.

Callum will be home soon, and somehow he has to explain the state he's in, how he couldn't stand to sit and listen to Phil's pack of wild dogs go on about Callum. 

He's a paramedic, they said. Phil's gay son has an easy reset button if anything goes wrong, they said.

And Ben threw his pint glass towards their table with fire in his eyes. It's one thing to talk about Ben as a simple object to poke at, but it's another thing to involve the love of his life through yellow stained teeth.

It was three against one. They'll probably tell Phil. Right now, though, he doesn't care.

At least, that's what he tells himself to ease the anxiety, but it never truly goes until he hears the familiar sound of the door in the kitchen.

Light pierces through, the porch light outside flickering on because of movement, and Callum's tall figure comes partly into view from where Ben sits on the sofa.

He looks tired, brushing his hands over his face. Callum's had a hard day and Ben's about to add to it. There's no doubt he'll make a fuss over it. It makes Ben feel even more sick with guilt, leaning back and tipping his head back onto the spine of the sofa.

Ben hears muffled shuffling, a cling of a mug, and then a zip of Callum's coat before it's flung over a chair in the kitchen. He must not have noticed Ben yet.

He should get up, say something, hug Callum close and thank whatever heaven up there that he's home, and safe, and that he  _ loves  _ Ben with every fibre in him.

But Ben doesn't want him to see his face, doesn't want to see the way his smile will fall when he sees the state he's in.

Ben will have to face the music eventually, so with a sigh, Ben hauls himself up, shoving his hands into the pockets of Callum's hoodie and makes his way towards the kitchen.

Callum must hear his feet, slowly shuffling across the wooden floor. He has his back turned to Ben, hunched over the side waiting for the kettle to boil. He doesn't say anything, not even when Ben's right there.

He comes to stand behind him, hands to Callum's waist, moving in and around to his stomach, hugging him close. That action itself pulls a sigh from Callum, moving back into Ben as he feels him rest his head between his shoulder blades.

As the kettle finally settles, and the click breaks the atmosphere, Callum goes to turn around, but Ben squeezes and clings to him. It stops Callum, causing him to soothe a hand over Ben's, thumb moving over his.

"You alright?" asks Callum, voice quiet in an ever more silent room.

Ben closes his eyes, turns his head so he's practically nuzzling into Callum's back. His silence speaks countless words, and over their relationship, Callum's come to understand it.

But that doesn't mean he stays silent.

"Are you?" asks Ben in return, Callum feeling him speak against the skin of his back.

"Long day," breathes Callum, taking hold of Ben's hand and squeezing. "But better now I'm home."

_ Home. _

Ben bites his bottom lip, worries it between his teeth before looking up, chin now resting against his back.

"I'm sorry," starts Ben, head falling again, looking down to their feet, Callum facing away as if Ben will always be in his shadow, outshined.

"What are you sorry for? You're not in control of my hours," he laughs, and it bubbles, helps Ben gain a smile before it's inevitably lost.

But Callum doesn't like the silence this time, not when Ben doesn't even seem to move, either. Callum moves slightly, feels no resistance this time, and turns around in Ben's gradually loosening arms to face him.

Ben can't look, can't watch as he senses the atmosphere switch from comfortable domesticity to something of Ben's own doing.

"Ben..." 

He feels Callum's hand come to rest at his jaw, thumb pressing against the inflamed skin of his cheek. And he's so  _ gentle,  _ so  _ finite  _ in his movements that Ben wants to  _ scream. _

He's not fragile, he won't shatter like glass, won't show weakness in a body and mind forged towards imperfect perfection — but Callum makes him this way, makes him mortal, reminds him he's capable of what other people can feel.

That he's allowed to feel it, that there's no consequence waiting for him.

And right now, his cheek throbs, his lip stings, and his body feels beyond exhausted that it pretends it's wide awake just for the sake of survival.

Callum places another hand towards the side of his head, a cut across his temple from where knuckles split the skin. He brushes his thumb near it, steadily, moving fingertips into Ben's hair and then moving his focus back to the blue of his eyes.

"Who did this to you?" There's a spark of anger there, somewhere in the depths of that tone, those words.

"It's nothing," Ben smiles, at least tries to, as Callum takes one step closer, eyes down and frantically searching over his face.

"Then why were you sayin' sorry?" Callum shakes his head, faint disbelief.

"Because you've had a long day," shrugs Ben, realising how willing he's being to express feelings. If this were anyone else, he would've laughed at them and gone to lick his wounds in the silence of his own bedroom.

"And?" Callum shrugs, places a solid hand at the back of Ben's neck.

Ben just wants to fall into him, cling him to him and hope the outside world is kinder to him that way. And of course it'd be Callum, pushing aside his own exhaustion to fix Ben's kitten scrap round the pub. 

"You spend all day savin' lives and then you come home to me, reckless, more bruises on my face than actual stories to tell," Ben sniffs, hands coming up to pick at Callum's work shirt. "You deserve — well. A cup of tea, warm bed, no issues, preferably  _ me  _ waitin' in that bed."

Callum does smile at that, but it fades when Ben dips his head, sniffs again and doesn't lift it back up until Callum helps him with gentle fingers, placed just at the hinge of his jaw.

He moves his head down a little to meet Ben's eyes on the way up, trying to smile, but there's no wiping away the guilt nailed to Ben's face.

_ "God —  _ Ben, you're hurt," Callum will deal with the self loathing later. "Sit down and I'll patch you up first."

Ben just sighs, doesn't move as Callum tips his head higher. He wants to kiss him, but that cut lip looks sore, so Callum avoids it. Dipping from his height, he presses a soft, almost whispered kiss to the corner of his mouth, then another against the cheek that's not inflamed.

"You gonna' kiss it better?" jokes Ben, but there's a tickle in his voice, almost breaking from the tenderness Callum kisses him with.

If Callum could, he would, but he knows kisses like this help heal and numb another type of wound Ben holds inside. The fear of being unloved, the fear of not being able to love in return.

And Callum kisses it away, thumb brushing through the rough, short hairs at the nape of his neck.

_ This —  _ this is what love is, right? The silence, answers through words, care and promise and trust through touch alone. It's that chest expanding, skin tingling, eyes closing on instinct type of love that makes Ben want to cry.

Because even when Ben comes back, comes  _ home  _ from the world outside, Callum is there to hold him and tell him they're all wrong, that there's nothing more he'd rather have than Ben.

"Please —" he says, whispering it against Ben's lips. He can't remember the last time Ben's come home with bruises like this before, and he knows the echoing poison each one brings thanks to the past. "Just sit down, let me take care of you."

Ben could scream  _ I don't want you to  _ but Callum's hands are awfully warm, and to be under such focus and care for more than five minutes is more than promising. But it's not just that.

He's learning a lot with Callum, how to accept things he didn't before because it was deemed weak by the be all and end all words of his father. Ben's having to step back through it all in order to step forward again to reach Callum.

"I'll make it up to you," says Ben, patting his chest, fingers splayed. "Breakfast in bed tomorrow?"

"I'm on call early in the morning," Callum swallows, trying not to think about having to leave early again. "But either way, you don't have to repay me for anything."

"You put up with me," says Ben as Callum turns around, zipping open his work bag to grab some bandages, fetching the dubbed  _ Ben Mitchell box  _ first aid kit out of their kitchen cupboard.

_ "No,"  _ replies Callum, and Ben thinks he's about to scald him. He does the opposite. "There's no  _ putting up with you,  _ Ben. If that was the case I wouldn't be here."

Ben wants to shake him.  _ How do you come up with this stuff? Say stuff that means so much to me? _

"C'mon," Callum taps his thigh, other arm hugging the stuff he needs. "Bed."

Ah, an opportunity. 

"Demanding — I like it," whistles Ben, only earning a small frown as Callum just stands there, waiting for the usual circus act to end. "Wow, tough crowd."

_ "Ben—" _

"I'm going! I'm going," Ben repeats that as he turns around, a bit sloppy in his first footing until he reaches the stairs, and his balance wobbles.

"You alright?" asks Callum, hand placed to the small of his back to steady him.

"Just this— headache," Ben pushes a palm against the side of his head, not the bruised side.

"Good," replies Callum, moving to hold his hand, moving it away from his head. "That's karma."

"I'm pretty sure that's not a medical term?" Ben follows and accepts Callum's guidance anyway, taking one step at a time until Ben perches himself at the end of their bed.

He feels almost like a child, shoulders forward and squeezed as he shivers, Callum's hoodie not providing much comfort. All he can do is shove his hands into the pockets of it and wait as Callum sits beside him, one leg up onto the bed.

"You gonna' tell me why you got in a fight again?" asks Callum, leaving Ben to sit on the question as he rips open a clean wipe. 

"It wasn't me this time," argues Ben, a little annoyance to his voice. "Besides, couldn't let them win. They look worse off than I do."

Callum takes a glance at him, eyes darting over his face until they settle into Ben's own eyes. Ben knows he thinks otherwise.

He just sighs, pushes the kit aside and pats the bed, "C'mon. Sit closer."

"Don't need to tell me," laughs Ben, but he soon falls quiet when Callum's hand cups his face, steadying him so that Callum can wipe away at the dirt and dried blood at the tip of his nose.

And he can't look at him, not at the way Callum concentrates, a gentle giant in the way he's so careful, so attentive and sure with every move he makes.

"Are you always this gentle with all the attractive blokes you —  _ ow!" _ Ben flinches back as Callum presses a little harder against the bruise. Not enough to seriously hurt him, but more like nudging him to stop him joking.

Callum just glares at him.

"Alright, not the time?"

"You think?"

"Do I?" Ben jokes again, grin sparking across his lips.

Callum ignores him this time, turning his attention back to the cut at the side of his head. He moves a little closer, tapping his leg so Ben gets the message without speaking.

There's a cold breeze in the room from the open window, but moving onto Callum's lap so he can see closer blocks it. Now it's even harder to look away, Ben's eyes full of sorrow as they link with Callum's line of sight, sparing a few seconds to smile his way.

_ Thank you. _

Callum kisses his cheek again, softly brushing his thumb over the same place his lips touched afterwards.

_ It's nothing. _

Ben keeps silent now, bites his tongue when the disinfectant stings, but Callum's always there to soothe him, promising that the pain will go away. He can't promise all of it will, but knowing at least some of it, the physical aspects, will leave more hope than some people are allowed to have.

It's when Callum's finishing up, rubbing some cream into Ben's bruised cheek to soothe the burn that he asks again.

"What happened?"

The ocean in Ben's chest is calm now, subtle waves that push the words out slowly. He owes Callum this much.

"Was at the bar," Ben starts, swallowing to ease the dry croak of his voice. Callum sits and listens, hands on Ben's waist, soothing circles with his thumb onto his skin, moving just underneath his shirt. "Some guys started talking about you."

Callum blinks, tilts his head, "Me?"

"They're — Phil's  _ dogs. _ They know about you, how you're my boyfriend, that if something goes wrong you'll somehow come and rescue all of them just because you're tied to me."

Ben places his hands on Callum's chest again, moving them up to his neck and then back down, "They think I'm still in on Phil's jobs but, I guess Phil doesn't have the heart to tell them that his gay son doesn't want to play with the big boys anymore."

"And let them think that," Callum pulls him a little closer from where he's holding him, relieved that Ben's face doesn't look as angry and broken anymore. Little does he know, that's partly Callum's doing, and not from cleaning him up.

"What?"

"You don't need to fight my battles for me, and you certainly don't need to prove anything to Phil when he's proven to himself he can't love you past his nose," Callum lifts one hand to push Ben's fringe back. "Please, Ben.  _ Don't _ do this again."

Ben dips his head, sinks into Callum's hand that comes round to hold his cheek. He kisses his palm, feels how cold he is, and reaches both of his hands to hold it. Ben holds his hand in the air between them, noticing how rough his knuckles are, his fingertips dry but Ben couldn't tell when he was touching him. That's how gentle he is.

These hands have saved lives, and Ben kisses the skin of them.

"I don't put up with you," repeats Callum from earlier, watching as Ben basically treasures his hands, warming them from the cold, intertwining their fingers. "I  _ love _ you."

Ben pauses, thumbs stopping at Callum's wrist, slowly looking up until he meets Callum's eyes. And those eyes, they say it more than his tongue can. 

"I never meant those things I said," Ben starts, squeezing Callum's hand now. "The only reason I went out to drink is because — because I knew what I said to you was wrong. I don't have to choose between you and my family because you  _ —" _

Callum's face softens, allowing Ben the time to continue.

He prods his chest with Callum's own hand, Ben's hands with it,  _ "you are, _ Callum.  _ You're _ my family, you — you always have been." 

Ben looks up to him now, almost wishes he could fade away after letting his heart speak for him, but Callum leans in, presses his forehead gently to his. Callum kisses the tip of his nose, hears Ben let out an exhale before moving his lips up, kissing his forehead that makes Ben lean into him afterwards, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

They stay like that, a few minutes ticking by on the clock until Callum places a soft kiss to the side of Ben's neck, then up towards his left ear where he places his hand, thumb moving over the rim of it.

"Does this hurt?"

Ben takes a moment to realise he's referencing his ear.

"No," swallows Ben. "It surprisingly stayed in when the guy socked me. Rings a bit, but nothing it doesn't already do."

Callum nods, presses another kiss to the hinge of Ben's jaw when Ben seems to cling to him, pushing his face into the space of Callum's neck. 

Callum talks as he starts to remove the hearing aid, Ben moving from the slight discomfort, but it's practically nothing when Callum's hand moves so soothingly over his body.

"I'm gonna' call up and stay tomorrow," he says, and Ben can just about hear him, but there's no straining.

"You don't have to," Ben's hand plays with the hair at the back of his head. Callum breathes easy with the returning comfort. "I know you love this job."

"I also love you," Callum places the device on the side, kissing next to his ear before hugging Ben entirely. "And sleep."

Ben laughs, "And breakfast in bed?"

"Well, if you're offering, I won't say no," Callum giggles, actually  _ giggles  _ and Ben can feel the sound against his own chest.

"Mm," Ben pulls back, looking into his eyes. "Promise me it ain't for me?"

"It is for you," Ben goes to roll his eyes at that, but Callum follows him, squeezes him warmly at the waist.  _ "But also _ for me. I've had late shifts all week. It's Sunday tomorrow, and I've got plenty of holiday time to spare. One day will do me good, I can promise that."

Ben takes a few seconds, but then he's smiling, closing his eyes as he hugs Callum once more.

"And I promise not to be your knight in shining armour — and beer." 

Callum laughs, breathing in for a second afterwards, "As long as I can still be yours?"

"Why do you think I'm dating a paramedic?"

Callum pinches his side, and Ben laughs. It's good to see him smiling,  _ to hear  _ the smile in his voice.

"I need a shower," says Callum, patting his side for a sign for Ben to get off his lap. "Go get your contacts out then I'll make us a drink afterwards before bed, yeah?"

"Yeah," Ben moves away, Callum planting another soft kiss to his forehead before grabbing clean clothes for the night. 

"I won't be long," he sings as he exits, Ben listening to his footsteps down the hall until they softly disappear, the tickle of water running in the distance.

Ben listens back to Callum's words in his head, smiling softly to himself, head down.

_ I love you. _

It still gives him butterflies to this day, and he's never going to tell himself otherwise when it feels  _ good  _ to be loved.

He goes about his nightly routine, hissing when it's a bit more difficult to take one of his contacts out, but he manages. Callum emerges with two mugs, one hot chocolate and one tea that warms their soul right beside the love they have for each other.

Callum allows Ben to lay his head on his chest, hand moving through his hair as Callum talks through his day. They share conversation back and forth, Ben drawing small patterns over the softness of Callum's shirt.

And Callum calls work before they sleep, has the day off ready for when he closes his eyes. They stay joined together, holding and  _ hugging  _ well into the afternoon.

Some would say it's a wasted day, but Callum would argue a day spent with the love of his life is never wasted. It's treasured.

These are the memories he'll always keep.

_ They  _ will keep them, hands on hearts.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: oceandawns  
> tumblr: oceandawning


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